


Wish You Were

by idoltina



Series: Breakeven [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Blood, Explicit Language, Grinding, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Nosebleed, Sexual Content, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion piece to <i>Arms and Enemies</i>. Five encounters between David and Luke that show the development of their relationship (five encounters Blaine isn't an explicit witness to).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish You Were

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings (if any):** Language, underage drinking, grinding, nosebleeds, mentions of sex and violence (not related)

One: Utopian Citizen   
**September 2012**

David's had nosebleeds for as long as he can remember. It's genetic, he thinks, aggravated by weather or climate changes or anxiety. They're usually not that bad -- they last for a few minutes (no more than ten), the blood flow is never that heavy, he can almost always get away and let it pass without anyone noticing. He's been lucky not to have one during a game. Junior year was difficult; Kurt -- and then Blaine, and then Santana -- all finding out about his sexuality made him bleed more than he was used to. It took him a full fifteen minutes to calm himself down after leaving Kurt at prom (and he still felt really, really bad about it) but all he could think was that he'd rather spend fifteen minutes staunching the flow from his nose than bleeding out pavement because the rest of the football team had beaten the shit out of him for being a fucking _fag_.

He felt less bad about it, later, when Anderson had told him about being bashed. He felt less guilty, more like he'd made the right choice. He made the choice to run, just like Anderson had.

He's kind of tired of running.

When he'd gotten to Florida, he'd felt... well, not exactly enthusiastic about being gay, but better. A new school, a new job, a new state, it all meant a fresh start. He could test the waters, see how well he'd be accepted here if he were out, how different college was from high school.

He'd been there a week before he went to a PFLAG meeting on campus. He probably won't admit it, but it's really Kurt's fault. He'd been nervous, walking in there tonight, unsure how they structured their meetings, how different it'd be from the intimate meetings they'd had in Lima, amongst friends.

He thinks they're his friends. He _thinks._

And yeah, it'd been a little more... organized, less chaotic, less... personal. But he liked the guest speaker, and he liked the way everyone settled into small groups. He liked how a lot of the people here were college kids, and he liked that they weren't all gay because that meant he could see how they viewed him, what they thought, how they dealt with him. It's the kind of 'real world experience' Anderson had talked about needing, something that was difficult to get in Lima where every response and attitude wasn't informed or educated, just biased and reactionary.

But there are moments during the night that remind David of home, of Lima and his father and Kurt. There'd been a tiny, red-haired woman who cried quietly into a handkerchief and talked about how she _still_ missed her son even though he'd taken his own life thirteen years ago, and a kid who'd looked his age (straight, though) who'd just attended his brother's wedding. There's an atmosphere of... acceptance, safety in the room that David remembers from the OSU board room, and for the first time since graduation, he doesn't feel so... alone.

And it's thanks to stupid moments of vulnerability like this that make him hate being gay, make him hate being alone, make him hate just wanting to _connect_ , wanting someone to _get_ the fucking hurricane that's wrecking his insides. And that's how David finds himself in the bathroom down the hall from the meeting just after it breaks, hands gripping the edge of a sink and eyes closed. After a while, his breathing starts to even out and he relaxes his grip.

“You're bleeding.”

He opens his eyes and sees red staining white.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, hastily reaching out to grab a paper towel.

“No, here, let me,” the voice -- a man's -- insists, reaching the dispenser just before David does. The stranger runs the rough bundle of paper under warm water for a moment before turning off the faucet and pressing it gently to David's nose. “Don't tilt your head back -- there you go.”

David doesn't know how long he's been bleeding -- a while, from the looks of the sink -- but he can already feel the flow starting to stem. He still waits a moment before he brings his head up and removes the towel for a minute, glancing over. The man (kid, guy, really, he looks David's age, maybe younger) is shorter than he is, slender and blonde and blue-eyed. He's... attractive, but there's a tug in David's gut that tells him _no_ , that tells him this isn't okay, that forces him to squelch the involuntary desire and work past it.

The blue eyes pierce him. “You okay?”

David nods, wiping his nose a final time and tossing the used towel in the trash. “Not my first nosebleed.”

There's a pause as the man continues to just _stare at him_ , eyes curious, questioning. “Not out yet?” he asks gently. David blinks, surprised, but the man just nods in the direction of the door. “I saw you in there, in your small group. It's a lot to deal with if you're not out --”

“I'm out,” David says, and he doesn't even know what possesses him to just come out to a complete stranger like this (even though every sense and pore is vibrating and humming and screaming _gay, gay, gay_ ) but he almost doesn't even care. The anxiety starts to creep back in and the hurricane takes over and he feels like a _monster_ , claws reaching out in a desperate attempt to _connect, connect, connect_. “That's not the problem.”

“First PFLAG meeting, then?”

David shakes his head again. “No -- my first in Florida, but I went to them for a year back home before I moved out here.”

“FSU?” the man asks, tilting his head. David nods. “Me too. I came out here from Chicago.”

“Ohio.”

“Oh jeez,” the man hisses, inhaling sharply. “So first time in a place where you don't feel like people are going to judge you for being gay, then?”

“Not that, exactly,” David answer hesitantly. “Maybe a little,” he allows, backtracking. “I had friends, back home. A few. They made it bearable until I moved.”

“Been there,” the man says, leaning his back against the neighboring sink. “I was in Indiana originally. My mom and my grandmother knew, but my dad didn't. And then I got outed and... things were just a mess. So I moved.”

“You were outed?” David asks, eyes wide. The man nods. “Me too.”

“You'll like it here,” the man promises. “There are good people in there. We're all here for the same reason.”

“Which is?” David prompts.

“To have someone to talk to. Someone who will understand. Someone who will listen.” David's heart races a little faster (seriously, is he _that_ transparent?) and then the stranger _smiles_ , all glitter and --

Oh _fuck_.

David did not come in here looking for a boyfriend. He came here for all of the reasons this man just listed -- to talk, to listen, to _connect_ \-- but this man is making it extremely difficult to ignore the way David's stomach twists in knots and his whole body just goes _warm_ and his face hurts because he just wants to smile like an idiot-

“You're bleeding again,” the man says, and the smile dims but it's still there, softer, gentler. There's another damp paper towel in his hand again but instead of handing it to David, he reaches up again, pressing it gently to David's nose and wiping red from his upper lip. When he removes the towel, his thumb replaces it, wiping away an invisible smear of crimson on David's upper lip, and David can't fucking _breathe_.

Is this guy _flirting_ with him?

“I'm David,” he breathes, unable to stop himself.

The man smiles, tossing the towel in the trash and bringing his hand down, offering it to David. “Luke.” David takes his hand to shake it, and then there's that _smile_ again --

David is _screwed._

*****

Two: The Fever of Disbelief   
**May 2014**

It's dark but not the same sort of dark he sees at night games; at least with the little light there, it's the same constant, blinding brightness. Here, the lights are rare but pulse and flash at random intervals, and David's head is starting to pound. There are bars and clubs, and then there are places like this, holes in the wall that hide an entire world he'd been previously and blissfully unaware of. And as he feels the eyes of a dozen different men leering at him, David feels that, yes, maybe ignorance _is_ bliss.

“Hi!” Luke says brightly, depositing himself in front of David and leaning against the bar.

“You're drunk,” David laughs. “How are you drunk? We're under twenty-one and wristbanded. How did you even get a drink in the first place?”

“Strangers like to buy me drinks,” Luke says with a shrug. “I'm too polite to say no.”

“And I say you're full of shit,” David throws back, grinning.

“I need your help,” Luke says without preamble, “ _because_ I'm drunk. And because my head is a little... fuzzy.” David arches an eyebrow but waves him on, indulging him. “There's a guy standing behind you at the other end of the bar -- don't look! -- that I want to get rid of.”

“Get rid of?” David echos. “What, are you with the mafia now? Putting out hits on people?”

“I slept with him,” Luke says dismissively, ignoring the teasing. David's stomach clenches unpleasantly. “And I don't do relationships, you know that. But this guy is _clingy_. I need to get rid of him.”

“And I'm supposed to help you with that how, exactly?” David asks, shifting uncomfortably. As a friend, he's on board with getting rid of this guy, but factor in the whole 'I'm really into you' bit and things start to get kind of complicated. It's not like Luke knows this, of course, but it still makes David uncomfortable. He doesn't want to come across as bitter, or jealous, or _clingy_.

“Come dance with me,” Luke pleads, tugging on David's hand. “Maybe he'll take the hint that I'm not interested.”

“You've danced with six different people in the last forty-five minutes,” David points out. “Why don't they work?”

“Because I hardly know them,” Luke explains, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “If I'm out there with someone I'm more comfortable with, someone I obviously have chemistry with, someone I might actually go home with, he's more likely to leave me alone.”

There's a part of David -- the 'I've been into you for over a year and a half and we're friends and it's nice to be appreciated' part -- that clings to the fact that Luke feels comfortable with him, that they have _chemistry_. But there's another part of him -- the part that says 'be honest' and 'don't force it', the part that sounds like Kurt, like Anderson -- that is hesitant to agree. Every fiber of him is screaming _yes, this is what you want_ , every fiber except for one lone knot in his gut, twisting and telling him _no, this is not the time or the place_.

He compromises. “I'm... not exactly a great dancer,” he admits. He could get away with dancing (which is a generous term in this case) at prom, with Santana at the helm guiding him. Give him a routine, choreography, and he can execute it just fine; it's like memorizing football plays. But _actual_ dancing, or even the sliding and grinding that's dominating the scene in front of him? David can't do that. At all.

“Follow my lead,” Luke says, tugging at his hand again. When David still hesitates, someone forces a drink into Luke's hand as means of a compliment; Luke offers it to David. “Please?” he pleads, almost _whining_ , but then he's _smiling_ again and David can't bring himself to say no.

David downs the drink (seriously, what _is_ that, that is _strong_ ) and allows himself to be tugged out onto the floor. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

“Just shut up,” Luke laughs, “and dance with me.”

It's tame, at first. Luke's hands are on David's hips as they face each other, guiding him through the motions and trying to make him understand the difference between simply moving to the rhythm and _feeling_ it. It's not something David is comfortable with and Luke is _laughing_ at him but Luke is also patient, smile never leaving his face.

And then the song changes to something a little fast, a little more... vibrant. David can feel it in his veins, or maybe that's the last drink he had, because he definitely feels a buzz coming on. “Come on,” Luke urges, eyes glittering and oh my _god_ he is so drunk. “Let's put on a show.”

Before David can ask what that entails, Luke is turning around in his embrace, reaching out behind him for David's hands. David lets Luke guide him, fingers intertwining as they settle on Luke's hips. There's more of the same, gentle rhythm from before, a familiar sensation but suddenly they're so much closer and David is trying really, really hard to keep his distance --

“Come closer,” Luke beckons, hands tugging David so that they're flush against each other now. Luke reaches a hand up to hold onto the back of David's neck and then he's moving again, hips rolling up and back against David. David fights back a groan and tries really hard to focus on the task at hand (how is this even dancing?) but it proves to be impossible because _Luke's ass is grinding back against his dick_. “Move with me,” Luke murmurs, turning his head back a little, lips brushing against David's jaw. He repeats the motion again, and then again until David manages to get his act together and move, hands shaking as they hold tightly to Luke's hips.

The move against each other for a while, but Luke still doesn't seem satisfied, eyes darting off to some dark corner that David doesn't even care to look at right now because _seriously_. “Touch me,” Luke presses, rolling on the balls of his feet and arching back, fingers dancing delicately on David's hand.

“What?” David asks sharply, because yeah, he may be buzzed but he's nowhere near as drunk as Luke is.

“Touch me,” Luke repeats, slowly dragging one of David's hands down to the hem of his own shirt. Luke turns his face to look back at David for a moment, eyes hazy; he guides David's hands under and up, David's fingers brush against Luke's skin --

David is _helpless_.

He gives in, any thoughts of where they are or what they are or why they're doing this long gone because Luke is back to grinding against him, body arching into David's touch. David runs his palm across the muscles of Luke's abdomen, something faint and wanting building in his veins. He tugs Luke's shirt up a little further, hands roaming over the new expanse of skin in a needy, possessive way, nails scratching gently. He wraps himself around Luke, intoxicated, fully intent on never letting go --

“You're hard,” Luke breathes, body sagging against David's a little as he gives himself over to David's ministrations, relinquishing control. David hums into his ear in response, eyes falling down to the exposed stretch of Luke's neck.

His lips are there before he even really knows what he's doing (seriously, that drink was _strong_ ) and Luke actually _moans_ , pressing against him a little more insistently. Luke tastes like salt and sweat and alcohol and something else David can't quite make out. David clings tighter, hands covering every inch of Luke's torso that he can reach, lips latched onto his neck as if his life depended on it. Luke reaches up to take one of David's hands and moves it down and over his jeans. “I am so turned on right now,” Luke babbles, bucking up into David's hand. David growls into his ear and then works his way back down to his neck, eyes darting up --

He sees the man now, at the edge of the bar, watching them. It's dark, but David can still see the annoyance etched in his face, the want behind his eyes, staring at Luke like he's _delicious_. But the man can only look, he can't touch again, that's David's job now --

And then it occurs to David how this must look, how possessive and filthy and degrading he must be coming off as, and that is not what he wants, not at _all_. He wants Luke, yes, but he _likes_ Luke, he's always hated the way guys stare at him, the way they use him. Kind of like David looks like he's using him right now. Kind of like Luke is using _him_ right now. But they're past that, they've gone so far beyond that because Luke is drunk, he's so, so drunk, he probably won't remember _any_ of this in the morning, and this isn't how David wants it to happen at all. He's the opposite of 'I don't do relationships.'

He moves his hand off of Luke's crotch first -- Luke whines in protest -- and then extracts his hand out from under the shirt, lips lingering an extra second to memorize the feel and taste. Luke misinterprets the action, though, and turns around again, chest pressed flush against David's, fingers gripping at the lapel on David's shirt. He's hardly even _looking_ at David, his eyes are so clouded, so lidded. He laughs a little, at nothing, and then his fingers are trailing up, dancing at the skin of David's neck, and he's leaning in --

David pulls back with a gasp, releasing Luke again immediately and shaking his head. “No,” he says fervently. “No.”

He's out the door without a backward glance, sinking down onto the curb, exhaling shakily, heart racing, blood in his head pounding. Not like this. He didn't want it to be like this, not ever. Luke looks right through him, always, always, unless they're alone and nowhere near romantic territory. He knows Luke cares -- he _knows_ that -- but David is being stupid, investing so much into this. He values Luke's friendship too much to screw this up, and Luke is never, ever going to open his eyes and actually see him as anything more. David's not sure what he feels more, violated, or like he violated Luke, just like...

Just like he violated Kurt.

Fuck, he is _never_ going to change, is he?

“You left,” comes Luke's dumbfounded voice from behind him. David doesn't answer but feels Luke sit down next to him clumsily. “You're bleeding.”

David opens his eyes and pulls his hands away from his face to find the heels of his palms covered in blood. “Shit,” he seethes, fumbling around in his pockets. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Here,” Luke says, offering out a napkin to him. David takes it quickly and glances at it briefly to find seven numbers and a name scrawled there messily. He fights the burn in his chest and hands it back to Luke, unused. “Don't be stupid,” Luke says firmly, the most coherent he's been in hours. He reaches over and presses the napkin to David's nose, bleeding blood and ink together into an unintelligible mess. “I'm so drunk,” Luke sighs after a few minutes, tossing the napkin aside.

“I know,” David says gently. “Want me to take you back to the dorms?” Luke nods, and together they walk, Luke stumbling and clutching onto David's arm.

There's an awkward and tense moment at Luke's door, neither of them daring to say anything until Luke finally ventures, “Stay? You make a really good pillow.”

But David shakes his head. “I'm gonna head back to my own room. Take some aspirin, drink some water. Call me in the morning to let me know you're okay.”

Luke blinks, his expression settling somewhere between surprise and disappointment (and David feels that somewhere too, because Luke just invited him to stay and David said _no_ ). In the end, though, he's so, so drunk and so, so tired, and David can hear him snoring in his room before he even reaches the end of the hall.

David _must_ be a masochist.

(But he knows he's not.)

*****

Three: Picture in My Mind   
**March 2015**

“Tell me about your friends.”

David's fingers flex against the steering wheel, relaxing at Luke's request. They're at the tail end of I-95 somewhere in northern Virginia, ready to switch over to I-395 and drive quickly through Maryland and then fucking _Jersey_ and on to New York. They're more than two-thirds through the trip and the car is warm even with the windows rolled down, their legs cramped and stiff. They've been driving so long the car begins to feel like home.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Luke enthuses, grinning at him from the passenger seat. “You've mentioned them but I don't feel like I really know anything about them, and if I'm going to spend a week with them...” David's quiet, trying to figure out how best to answer the question. Luke sighs. “We've been in this car fourteen hours, David. _Fourteen. Hours._ And all we've done is driven and slept and listened to a book on tape.”

“We've talked,” David says defensively.

“You tried to teach me more about football,” Luke deadpans, “and failed. I told you, I am not a sports man.”

“I listened to you talk about Jodi Foster for a half hour,” David protests. “Do not even start with me, Barnes.”

“Ooo, breaking out my last name, this is serious,” Luke teases, still grinning at him with that infuriating, glittering smile. “Seriously, though, I just want to know -- hey!” He reaches in the cup holder for David's phone, fingers moving swiftly over the screen. “Okay, give me their names.”

“You know their names,” David laughs. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I'm going to stalk them on your Facebook page,” Luke explains. “Okay, Santana, right? She's the one who calls you every Tuesday night.” David smiles in spite of himself. “She's pretty. She looks bitchy, but pretty.”

“Sounds about right,” David laughs. “Santana prides herself on 'keeping it real.' She'll be the most honest with you.”

“Excellent,” Luke chuckles, grinning mischievously. “Now I know who to go to for dirt on you.”

“If you're looking for embarrassing stories, maybe,” David allows, “but if you're looking for prime blackmail material, she won't give it up.”

“That doesn't seem to sit with what I've heard about her,” Luke says, confused.

“She's... sort of my best friend,” David admits. “In high school, she was kind of my biggest supporter when I got outed.”

“You've never really talked about that,” Luke says quietly, “about how you were outed.”

David glances over for a split second to see that piercing blue again and caves. “It was an accident,” he sighs, shifting in the driver's seat uncomfortably. “It wasn't really any one person that outed me. It just sort of... happened.”

“How'd you know?” Luke asks. “How'd you know you'd been outed?”

David laughs bitterly. “Rest of the guys on the football team took to decorating my locker. Santana took them down a peg.”

“How?”

David's knees relax as he remembers, the memory of her striding across the hall with purpose and pressing her lips against Brittany and offering him an out still vivid as ever. “She came out.”

“Just like that?” Luke huffs out.

“Just like that,” David echos. “Kissed Brittany in the hallway and everything.”

Luke's quiet for a moment. “She did it to shift the attention away from you,” he says slowly. “That's -- wow. No wonder she's your best friend.”

“She's a good person,” David insists. “A little... hard. Rough around the edges. Until she gets to know you, her loyalty is to me, not you.”

There's a stiff silence in the car for a moment. “Hey, I thought _I_ was your best friend,” Luke says cheekily.

“You're ridiculous,” David says, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, so Santana means well, but watch out for her anyway?” Luke summarizes. David nods. “And she's engaged to Brittany,” Luke continues, looking back down at the phone. “Who is -- oh _wow_ ,” Luke gasps. “She's gorgeous. No, I mean, she's _gorgeous_. Your friends are so hot.”

“You're gay,” David reminds him, unable to fight back a laugh.

“Regardless,” Luke dismisses, “in a completely non-sexual way, your friends are _hot_.”

“Yeah,” David agrees, eyes trailing over Luke's figure as the latter continues to browse the profile on the phone.

“What's she like?” Luke asks. “Brittany?”

“She's... nice,” David says hesitantly. “It's hard to describe Brittany. You kind of just have to spend enough time with her to understand her. She's sweet but there's something... off about her. She's a little slower than most people.”

“Is there something wrong with her?” Luke asks gently. “Mentally?”

“I don't know,” David says slowly. “I think Santana would know, or maybe Anderson, but I don't really know Brittany all that well. We're not that close.” He hesitates, and then adds, “I don't think she likes me very much.”

“That's ridiculous,” Luke snaps, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the phone. “Who wouldn't like you?” David's lips purse in an attempt not to smile, but he really, really can't help himself. “Anderson -- Blaine? Why do you call him by his last name?” Luke questions, switching profiles.

“We... didn't exactly get along when we first met,” David says carefully, trying to be honest without divulging all of his secrets. “When we got to the point where we could tolerate each other, it seemed the safest option. Just habit now, I guess.”

“Hmm, so what's he -- oh he's cute! -- what's he like?”

“Are you going to hit on all of my friends?” David asks, but he's laughing and he knows Luke wouldn't.

“I call 'em like I see 'em,” Luke says, settling back more comfortably into his seat.

“You and Santana will get along well, then,” David says wryly. “And Kurt.”

“Hang on, back up,” Luke laughs. “Blaine, what's Blaine like?”

“He's... nothing like me,” David finally decides. “You'd like him.”

“You're implying that I don't like you,” Luke says dryly, calling him out. David glances over and Luke just gives him a _look_. “So, Blaine Anderson: douche. Got it.”

“No,” David laughs, coloring. “He's... patient. Enthusiastic. Understanding. A people pleaser.”

“You speak highly of him now but you didn't get along with him when you first met,” Luke muses. “Why?” David's jaw clenches a little, his grip on the steering wheel a little tighter. “Wow,” Luke huffs out. “You are never going to tell me what high school was like, are you? We've been friends for two and a half years and you're never going to tell me. Do you not _trust_ me or something?”

“It's not that,” David rushes to explain. Maybe it is, a little. Maybe he's afraid to trust Luke. He's definitely afraid to tell Luke about what he's done. “I just... I'm not proud of who I was then, what I did.”

He can feel Luke staring at him, calculating, and then Luke's hand is resting gently on his shoulder. David has to fight to keep his gaze on the road. “I don't know who you were then,” Luke says carefully, “but I know who you are now and I _like_ this guy. And think of it this way -- your friends knew you then and they're still your friends now. Either you're the same guy, or you're better. It's win-win.”

David swallows thickly and smiles a little. “Thanks.”

Luke pulls away and turns his attention back to the phone. “Blaine's engaged to Kurt -- oh my god, we're hanging out with engaged couples all week. How awkward.”

David laughs. “I'm actually looking forward to it. Normally I'm like the fifth wheel. At least now I have you to keep me entertained when they break off into couples.”

Luke grins at him. “Kurt Hummel -- Reader's Digest version of his biography?”

“Most decent person in the world,” David answers immediately. “All sorts of crazy, he gets way into everything he does, but everyone gets a second chance with him.”

Luke tilts his head to the side. “Including you?”

“Including me,” David agrees quietly, silently hoping Luke will drop it there. “Those are my friends. Santana, Brittany, Kurt and Ander -- Blaine.”

“You make them sound like they're one person,” Luke comments.

“They're not,” David allows, “but they're sort of attached at the hip. They've been in love a long time. So have Santana and Brittany, but it took them a while to sort things out.”

“High school sweethearts, then,” Luke remarks, glancing down at the phone. There's something in his tone that David can't quite make out. He's not sure if Luke would welcome questions right now.

“Wanna switch?” David offers, spotting a sign for a rest stop a few miles ahead.

“Yeah... Yeah, that sounds good,” Luke agrees, depositing the phone back in the cup holder.

When David passes off the keys at the gas station, Luke's hand grips around his bicep for a moment. David looks down expectantly, but Luke doesn't meet his gaze. “Thanks,” Luke says quietly, “for bringing me. For introducing me to your friends. For... for trusting me, even if it's not a lot.”

David fights not to melt into the pavement. “Well,” he teases, “you _are_ my best friend.”

Luke grins at him.

*****

Four: Memories Like a Shadow Now   
**October 2015**

Things are... different. David's felt that since the wedding, since he opened up and told Luke... well, everything. There are days when it still terrifies him, days when he can't believe he actually did it. There's something to be said for someone who doesn't walk away when you show your true colors, or at least, the colors you used to be.

And David feels... better. It's reminiscent of how he felt when he started attending PFLAG meetings in Lima, when he first moved to Florida, when he met Luke. Granted, he _still_ hasn't told Luke how he really feels, but David's sort of okay with that right now. He's learning to appreciate more and more the fact that Luke _is_ his best friend (outside of Santana, and even then... he'd never admit it to her), the same way he's starting to appreciate the fact that Kurt and Blaine and Santana and Brittany are all his friends, his actual friends. They're always going to be in his corner.

They always look after their own.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn't feel like he's suffocating or bleeding. He doesn't feel like such a monster.

Kurt really is the most decent human being he's ever met.

There's a knock on his dorm door and David pushes himself off of the bed with a slight groan, tossing a book onto the mattress as he goes. “I was wondering if you were going to show up,” he teases, stepping aside to let Luke in.

“Sorry,” Luke rushes out, unfurling his scarf. “My co-workers took me out to dinner -- it was a last minute thing.”

“That was nice of them,” David remarks casually. “Where'd you go?”

Luke's lips purse. “Tropics. Seafood.”

“Nice,” David says with a roll of his eyes. “I take it you didn't eat, then?”

“I had a salad,” Luke owns, blushing. “It's fine though, I'm here now. What'd you want to see me for?”

“I have something for you,” David admits, gesturing for Luke to sit down on the bed. He digs into the back of his closet, carefully hoisting the package into his arms, straightening and turning back to face Luke. “You didn't think I'd forget your birthday, did you?” he asks with a grin.

“You are certifiable,” Luke huffs out. “I didn't think _anyone_ remembered.”

“Well your co-workers did, apparently,” David says dryly. “It's the thought that counts, though, right?”

“Oh shut up,” Luke says, coloring. “What'd you get me?”

“Open it and find out,” David laughs, carefully depositing the box on Luke's lap. “Be careful -- it's heavy and you don't want it to break.”

“Ooo, big spender?” Luke teases, starting to unwrap the gift. David surveys his face carefully as Luke lifts open the lid of the box and looks down into it. The smile disappears from Luke's face immediately. “You got me a typewriter,” Luke says blankly.

“Well, yeah,” David says awkwardly. “I knew you wanted one.”

“How?” Luke asks, not looking at him.

“Freshman year?” David prompts. “You told me you were a journalism major and that you wanted the first piece you published after graduation to be something originally done on a typewriter. But I guess... I guess that was a while ago,” David admits. “If you don't still want it, you can say so, it's okay --”

“No,” Luke says quietly. “No, I still want it. It's -- this is nice, thank you.”

“You're welcome,” David says carefully, still unable to interpret the look on Luke's face. “I'm glad you like it?”

Luke finally looks up at David's questioning tone. “I do,” he breathes. He looks back down at the typewriter, fingers cascading over each individual button with care. “Do you remember the wedding this summer, when you told me about what happened with Kurt?”

“Yeah...” David says slowly. “What about it?”

“That... changed things for me,” Luke says quietly. “It really means a lot to me that you trust me enough to tell me that. It's nice that you trust I won't walk out on you.”

“You haven't,” David points out.

“I wouldn't,” Luke insists. “I just... I think it's time I return the favor.” He looks up again. “I think I owe it to you to be just as honest.”

David reaches over and sets the box gently on the floor. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Luke tucks one leg under the other, inhales sharply, and then starts to speak. “I told you when we first met that my mom and grandmother and I moved from Indiana to Chicago. I didn't tell you why.”

“Your dad?” David guesses.

Luke huffs out his surprise. “How do you remember everything I say?” David shrugs, trying to come off as nonchalant. He's not about to say _I hang on your every word_. “I was outed sort of the same way you were, by accident. My dad didn't take it well.”

David thinks of Anderson but then remembers the look on Mr. Anderson's face when he realized his son had been in danger again; David's thoughts shift to Santana, and his insides churn. “I'm sorry,” he offers lamely. “I don't know... exactly what that's like. Some of my friends do, sort of, but my dad was really good about it. It's... it's why I came out to him in the first place. I knew it'd be okay.”

“You're lucky,” Luke says, and his tone is a cross between being earnest and bitter. “It's -- look, it sucks, being rejected by your own parent. I'm not trying to complain about it. It happened a long time ago, I'm over it. But... it's not exactly easy to forget.” He meets David's eyes for a steady moment before shifting on the bed, presenting his back to David and moving some of the hair from the nape of his neck to reveal a long scar. And it's Anderson all over again, telling a haunting tale using visuals instead of words, and David feels _sick_. He reaches out shaking fingers to trace the scar and is met with a shiver from Luke, who allows the touch for the briefest of seconds before pulling away and turning around again.

“I'm sorry,” David says again thickly. “I'm sorry I don't have anything more useful to say.”

“You're listening,” Luke says. “That's enough. I --” He hesitates here, giving David a once over before closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. “I trust you,” he says firmly. “And there's more you need to know.” He opens his eyes, waiting for David to say something, to react or respond, anything. But David is silent, watching, waiting, and Luke can't seem to keep it in anymore. “My grandmother had a typewriter,” he explains in a rush. “And the first two years after we moved, I wrote. A lot. It's what made me decide to be a journalism major. And then, when I was sixteen... I had a really, really fucked up first relationship. And it's kind of skewed my view of things ever since. I'd be lying if I said it didn't leave me a little jaded.”

And David finally, _finally_ understands a little. He understands why Luke doesn't _trust_ anyone. He understands why Luke goes quiet when David talks about his dad. He understands why Luke loves his mom so much. He understands the drive behind Luke's passion for journalism. He understands why Luke doesn't do relationships, why he fucks around. He understands what the emotion was in the car on the way to the Hamptons, and then again at his side at Brittany and Santana's wedding. Luke is _jealous_ , and David finally realizes that it's a big deal for Luke to even feel _that_ , much less to _want_ those things after what he's been through. And it's an even bigger deal that he's told all of this to David, that he _trusts_ David, that he's putting stock in David's promise -- _I'm not going anywhere_.

David has the power to _break_ him.

Luke looks over at him hesitantly, eyes the same startling blue, the glitter gone from his smile, and David falls in love a little more.

“Not going anywhere?” Luke asks hesitantly.

David grins at him. “Right guard, remember? Means --”

“Means it's your job to make sure the other guy doesn't move at all,” Luke finishes.

“Oh finally,” David huffs out. “I finally managed to teach you something about football.”

“Yeah, well...” Luke blushes, biting back a smile. “So if _I'm_ not going anywhere...”

“Then you're stuck with me,” David sighs dramatically.

And _there's_ that smile.

David uses his foot to scoot the box across the floor a little more, out of harm's way, and digs his phone out of his pocket. “Wanna order a pizza?”

“Oh god, yes,” Luke groans, curling up with one of David's pillows. “Pepperoni, please.”

As the phone rings and Luke digs through David's DVD box (David thinks he sees him unearth _Fast and Furious_ , which surprises him), David can't help but smile at him. Luke feels a lot better, David can tell, but he _looks_ it more than anything, visibly brighter and at ease.

He should look for a new ribbon to go with the typewriter.

*****

Five: No Such Thing as Idealism   
**January 2016**

_Wait for me here_ , he'd told Luke. And Luke had agreed, had smiled, had _kissed him back_ \--

David's dreaming. He's _got_ to be dreaming. And when he wakes up, his nose will be bleeding and his heart will be aching and he's still going to have to play that damn game...

But no, he's not dreaming, because when he emerges from the locker room, Luke is _still there_.

_I'm not going anywhere._

And then he remembers that his friends are there, that his dad is roaming around somewhere, and for once, he really, really just wants some time alone with Luke, time to sit and talk and figure this out and not _worry_ so much for once. Luckily, the girls are fairly quick to leave (okay, that's a lie, Brittany practically dragged Santana away kicking and screaming) and the guys aren't far behind, lingering only to ask a few curious questions.

He really should thank them. Kurt especially.

Later. Right now...

“How long?” Luke asks once they're out of earshot.

David turns to look at him again, huffing. “No beating around the bush, then?”

“I think you've done that long enough,” Luke says as gently as possible. He's not angry, David can tell, but he's... something. “How long?” he asks again.

“I think I've always been... interested,” David says carefully.

“David,” Luke says seriously, “how long?”

“A year, for sure,” David admits quietly. “Anderson called me out on it, when you first met them.”

“I -- a year?” Luke asks blankly.

“At least,” David says awkwardly, and fuck, okay, maybe this was a bad idea. 'Be honest, don't force things,' they were all pieces of advice he'd taken, all things that had been holding him back.

He held himself back more than anything else, though.

Luke opens his mouth and then shuts it again, blinking rapidly. Finally, he meets David's gaze, eyes pleading. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“A million reasons,” David sighs. “I was scared, I wasn't ready, I liked being your friend, you weren't interested --”

“That's... not exactly true,” Luke cuts in hesitantly, flushing considerably. David's heart _stops_. “I may not have always been interested in this... way, exactly. But there was a reason I shook your hand, there was a reason I stayed.”

“What?”

“I saw myself in you,” Luke admits. “Sixteen and damaged, eager to find someone who would just _understand_. But then...”

“Then?” David prompts.

“Then I realized you weren't me at all,” Luke sighs. “You weren't as jaded, weren't as bitter. You were the better man. And you just _refused_ to see it.”

The weight leaves David's shoulders. “But that's my point,” he says, breathing a little easier. “That -- you were right, you know. When we first met, you said I wanted someone who would understand. And you _do_. Being -- being around you was good for me. You made me feel... human. I needed that before I could do... well, this,” he says, blushing.

Luke colors right along with him. “You just proved _my_ point,” he laughs, toying with the threads of the scarf on the bench.

“No,” David argues, “you just proved mine. You said you've always seen more to me than I'd let myself see. That goes both ways. Why do you think I was okay with being your friend for so long?”

“So what, you were trying to make me _see_ something?” Luke asks, and he almost sounds annoyed. “You didn't even know about my dad and everything else until a few months ago --”

“That doesn't mean I didn't see how it affected you,” David points out. “I saw the way you shut people out but let me in. I saw the way you let people _use_ you. And it just... it _killed_ me, okay? Because I've never seen you that way.”

“What do you see?” Luke asks tentatively.

David considers him for a moment. “Someone who wants the same things I do, the same things everybody does. I see someone who's afraid to want those things. I see me. I see someone who feels like he doesn't matter. I see someone who means _everything_ to me. I see someone who deserves _so much better_ than what he's been settling for.” He shifts awkwardly and looks down at his lap. “And now I see someone who wasn't looking _through_ me like I thought he was. I see someone who saw me before I did.”

The stadium is quiet (somewhere behind him, David can hear the faint voices of his friends, and maybe his dad) and David knows there's no turning back, no taking any of it back. There's no play for him to memorize, no choreography to learn, no one to help him out of this mess. He's entirely on his own this time.

Luke places his hand on top of David's.

David looks up, hazel meeting blue, and his heart catches in his throat.

Maybe he's not so alone.

Luke leans forward, hesitant, waiting for David to pull away, but _I'm not going anywhere_ hangs unspoken in the air between them, and then Luke's lips are on his again.

It's just as good as he remembered from before: Luke's lips are soft beneath his, pliant and moving warmly, applying just enough pressure for it to be an actual kiss but not enough to be anything more. The lips are gone all too soon and David chases after them without realizing or being able to show restraint. He recaptures Luke's lips, pressing against him a little more firmly this time, much more like the first kiss; Luke inhales sharply again, just as he did the first time, just like _Kurt_ \--

David starts to pull away again but Luke's hand grasps David's jaw firmly, holding him in place. “Don't go,” Luke mumbles against him, and it's all David needs to hear.

Kissing Luke isn't like kissing Kurt, isn't like kissing girls, isn't like -- fuck, it isn't like _anything_. Kissing Luke is like the first drink after a drought, is new and necessary. He's never _wanted_ anyone like Luke, never had anyone want him like this. He inhales and feels like he can breathe, blood pulsing through his veins but not clogging up his airways; he exhales and feels like he's in the eye of the storm, calm and connected and human.

Every kiss David initiates is a little wet and eager, all angles and sharp inhales and grabbing at arms and wrists and lapels. Every kiss initiated by Luke is entirely different, reactionary and an experimentation in what David might like; there's a moment when Luke sucks on his bottom lip -- all heat and teeth and _desire_ \-- and another when Luke's tongue sweeps tentatively against David's lips. David meets it with his own for a moment, daring, but defaults to the gentler kisses, wanting to memorize the way Luke kisses one way before he moves to another.

The kisses become feather light again, Luke's lips barely ghosting over his own, and with one final kiss to the corner of David's mouth, they finally stop. “Sorry,” Luke breathes sheepishly against his face, “I kind of couldn't help myself... I have a lot of time to make up for.”

“I'm not in any rush,” David chuckles quietly, darting in to kiss him quickly. “I'm not going anywhere.” Luke's eyes brighten and he _smiles_ , but his face falls after a minute. “What is it?”

“Your dad's up there,” Luke whispers. “I think he might've seen us.”

“You say that like he might not have seen us earlier,” David laughs. “I didn't exactly try to hide it.” Luke's not laughing, though, and David knows what the problem is. “You know what my dad is like,” David reminds him. “I told you, he's _fine_ with it --”

“I met him,” Luke considers, “briefly, but I met him, before the game.”

“So you broke the ice. Just -- let me do the talking, at least at first. We can take the same car to the restaurant and tell him then.”

“And what... exactly are we telling him?” Luke asks hesitantly, eyes surveying David cautiously.

“I... don't know,” David admits. “That there's something going on here?”

Luke squirms for a second. “Oh,” he says awkwardly. “I -- you want to try the dating thing. You want to try the _relationship_ thing. You -- you want to introduce me as your boyfriend.”

“I want to tell my dad I'm interested,” David says diplomatically because yes, all of those things sound _great_ but he's not going to push. He just got Luke to _kiss_ him. “And that maybe you're interested too.”

“I'm... more than interested,” Luke admits. “I -- it's okay. If you want to. You can tell him that.”

“Tell him what?” David asks, brow furrowing. “That -- you want me to introduce you as my boyfriend?” he asks, and really, there's no way for that question to come off as casual at all.

“I'm just saying you can,” Luke clarifies, “if you want.”

It takes all of David's willpower not to tell Luke _exactly_ how he feels right then and there. Instead, he settles for leaning in and kissing Luke again, and somehow, the words translate into action and David thinks Luke gets the message anyway: _I am so in love with you._

“We should go,” Luke sighs, exhaling shakily as David pulls away, “before Santana starts a riot.”

“Oh god,” David groans, resting his forehead against Luke's shoulder. “You know she's going to ask, don't you? She's going to ask for details and ask me to rate you as a kisser and -- ugh. I just want a day, not even. Just the rest of today. If she can hold off the rest of today, fine.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Luke says amicably. “If you just get it out of the way now and brag about my kissing skills, maybe she'll consider it a fair trade and let it go for a while. Plus, I'm really not that interested in finding out what Lima Heights Adjacent means.”

“Who said I'd be bragging?” David teases, grinning.

Luke smacks him on the shoulder. “Mean. Santana and Brittany bragged about your dancing skills. How am I ever going to win your best friend over if you don't talk me up a little?”

“I don't think it's her you have to worry about winning over.”

“Oh god,” Luke groans, paling. “Your _dad_?”

“No,” David laughs, reaching out to rub at the back of Luke's neck, fingers idly tracing the scar there. “I meant _me_ , idiot.”

“I thought I already won you over,” Luke teases, and his smile is all glitter again.

“Yeah,” David breathes, fingers tightening over Luke's thigh. “You did.”


End file.
